


Have You Seen a Dog?

by Neverlastingforever



Series: Jon/Martin Oneshots [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, But it is a very brief attempt, Cannon-Typical Angst, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Wow the author was really milking the angst cows today huh, there is a dOG LOOSE in my SOULMATE AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverlastingforever/pseuds/Neverlastingforever
Summary: So it turns out that something mundane, like fate tattooing your soulmate’s first words to you on your arm, can actually be so interesting when that first encounter involves letting a dog loose in the Archives.Things get progressively less funny from there.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Jon/Martin Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892716
Comments: 15
Kudos: 268





	Have You Seen a Dog?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Jonmartin anon request from my tumblr, which was suppose to be a short oneshot but I kind of went ham. Prompt: maybe a soulmate au? where the first words you say to your soulmate are written on your arm?
> 
> The beginning of this was heavily inspired by [@sasha-archivist](https://sasha-archivist.tumblr.com)’s soulmate [post](https://sasha-archivist.tumblr.com/post/624447086574845952/after-listening-to-the-live-show-audio-the-early) on tumblr.
> 
> This fic contains spoilers for the liveshow and seasons 1-4 but not season 5 for some reason so that’s cool. Also lines taken from episodes will have the episode mentioned before the next break, and lines I made up will be marked with Not MAG.
> 
> Enjoy

_“Hey, sorry; you haven’t seen a dog, have you?”_

“In- In general?”

Martin paused, had to blink. It was the first hour of the workday and his mind was already racing, palms sweaty with nerves, and the absolute mountain of adrenaline from _ohmygodIjustletadogintomyworkplace_ was not allowing him to dawdle on the situation more than strictly necessary but such a bizarre response from a very gruff, very unfriendly looking man deserved at least some consideration.

So Martin gathered what little wits he could find in his panic, and stammered out, “N-No, um, in the archives. A-A Spaniel, I think.”

Even the embarrassment couldn’t keep him in the moment though, because for a second, just a second really, he couldn’t help but feel like they were reciting some script. Just- Just something the man or Martin had said that Martin couldn’t help but have thought he heard a thousand times before, but there wasn’t a chance to parse it. No, all that Martin could even begin to try to comprehend right now was his own fear of being fired over a very cute dog which frankly should just be allowed to live in the Archives now.

And since he needed to get back to that and hopefully find the Spaniel before it, uh, had an accident on the basement carpet, he found himself rapid fire explaining to the stranger in front of him how Martin’s potential dog friend had gotten past him, a complete accident really, and into the building. Said person that wasn’t quite a stranger - Martin swore he’d seen him in research before - turned out, in a stroke of terrible luck, to be Martin’s new superior, one Jonathan Sims. So just an awful day all around.

Martin really couldn’t get back to tracking down the dog fast enough.

It was only when he was questioning the few other staff he could find about dog sightings, listening for barks, and following the occasional pawprint that he could slow down and think past the fading adrenaline. Thus, it was only when he was far deeper into the shelves and boxes of unsorted papers in archival storage that he spontaneously felt a deep building dread within himself, when all at once, his mind finally digested the conversation he’d had with Jon. The script-like feeling of it.

He almost ripped his sleeve trying to roll it up, feverish with panic, fear, and maybe hope? Oh course, Martin knew exactly what would be waiting for him on the otherwise unblemished skin of his left arm. Two words, that of course he’d memorized so there really was no need to look but- but he had to. That couldn’t have been real, how had he missed it?

Sure enough, _**In general?**_ was written in plain font in black ink around his left wrist.

Two words. It was only ever two words and Martin hated himself for that. It was so applicable! Jonathan - Jon - had said them, just now, which explained the deep seated familiarity that struck Martin in the moment, but so had a bunch of other people in Martin’s life! It was a fairly common phrase to say! The only credit that could be given to it, really, was that Martin couldn’t actually recall having had a conversation with Jon before this day. He’d seen Jon before, of course, coming in and out of the library from research, but Martin struggled to remember if they’d ever actually exchanged words.

It really was going to eat at him.

More than the dog seemed to have tried to eat a few papers, left in a soggy mess on the floor. Good lord, Martin hoped those weren’t important.

He followed the debris deeper in, most lights in the ceiling struggling to do their job, leaving whole rows of files unilluminated. The best strategy was to watch for any movement, but at the same time, Martin found himself hoping that nothing moved. Archival storage was the setting of a horror movie this far in, unlike near the offices.

The offices where Jon was.

Where his soulmate might be.

Jon might be his soulmate.

Martin couldn’t be sure though! He’d had far too many false alarms by this point, where he’d jumped the gun and forgotten that he’d talked to the person before, or it was farther into the first conversation so surely it still counted?

Either way whatever relationships he had managed to be in throughout his life had always been so brief or so… not great, that by this point he was starting to think he might be one of those people who just never met their soulmate. It- It wasn’t technically proven that could happen, but he’d heard the rumours. And it would kind of be par for the course after everything else that had happened to him. He was almost out of his twenties. He didn’t have any close friends. His most meaningful relationships had only ever lasted a few months. The person he was closest to now was his mother and that was… strained.

Martin Blackwood had been holding on to the thought of his soulmate like a drowning man would a life preserver. The person that he would be able to count on. To latch onto. That would never abandon him. It really was too good to be true.

It was hope, plain and simple, and Martin was lost to it. Would jump onto any chance to make it come true no matter how stupid or desperate.

Martin took a breath, trying to wedge himself past a tower of boxes, and assured himself once more that he would have to have spoken to Jon before. Martin worked in the Institute’s library. He spoke to a lot of people, even just briefly.

It was another false alarm.

There... was another slightly unreliable way to tell if Jon was his soulmate. The ink encircling Martin’s left wrist had been there since birth, and were the first words his soulmate would ever say to him. After that initial encounter, more tattoos would begin to bleed up his arm and down his back as time went on. These sentences would appear at random, and would be a transcript of the most meaningful and impactful things to be said to him by his soulmate in the near future. (Farther in the future, on his right wrist, would appear the last words his soulmate would ever say to him at the end of their lives. But that was not near enough for Martin to think about now.)

So- So if there was something new tattooed on Martin’s arm, that meant he’d recently encountered his soulmate and had exchanged first words. Which meant that his soulmate had to be Jon. So if Martin could just work up the courage to pull his sleeve up a bit higher then- then maybe-

What if it wasn’t Jon? What if it was? Did he really want someone who hated him to also be the person who understood him? Who his fate was intertwined with? The other option though… that he would be alone longer. That his soulmate encounter still wouldn’t happen for a while to come, leaving Martin without anyone close to him for who knew how much time-

It was grim to think about. So he didn’t.

He always tried to think about other things, like if the relationship with his soulmate would be platonic or romantic. What things he could read off their skin, knowing that his words had impacted them enough for fate to take notice. The thought of sitting down and laughing as they talked about their first conversation, and how minimal their two words to Martin had been…

The thought of having a soulmate was amazing. It could be anyone he ever met at any time! And... It could also be the very pissed looking man in the Archives who Martin was not going to enjoy being the assistant of.

There was one way to find out.

So Martin gathered himself with steel-like resolution, and prepared to roll his sleeve up more, to see if more ink had appeared, to indicate that he’d met his soulmate, and that those words were true, that everything would-!

And then he saw the dog.

(MAG Liveshow)  
...

Jon was having a… stressful, first day.

There were weird statements that didn’t record properly, weird people that didn’t seem to understand the concept of a workplace, weird archives where it never felt like he was alone and were definitely not organized as an archive should be. Weird desk that an old woman died at. Weird… dog… incident.

Still, he persevered. It was a job, a good paying one, and with which he would obviously never have a dull moment considering he spent the better half of the workday helping track down a mutt that was making a variety of messes of things.

He saw Martin a couple times during the hunt but decided it was best to avoid him. Perhaps Jon was a bit… off put, that Elias didn’t get his input on the hire. Perhaps he was just rightfully wary of someone so… ergh.

Regardless, at some point the dog was no longer in the Archives, coincidentally lining up with the point that Jon decided he would rather not be at the Archives either and headed home for the day. Martin was staying to clean up the mess, and Tim was helping him, and there really was no reason for Jon to be there when they so obviously had it covered. He hadn’t been the one to let a stray into an institution after all.

So he left.

He only took the time to pause when he got back to his apartment, and realized something had been bugging him all day that wasn’t just the dog. It was a- a sort of tickle in the back of his mind, like he was forgetting about something. It was only when he was putting his keys in the dish and hanging up his coat that he came to the realization, that, well, several hours earlier he’d been asked about a dog. Not normally that riveting, but a younger Jon had trained himself to be wary of that question.

He pulled up his sleeve, read the black ink again for the first time in awhile, after avoiding it for so long. _**Hey, sorry; have you seen a dog?**_

Hadn’t… hadn’t Martin asked him about a dog? He had, but… had he used those words? Those _exact_ words? No… No probably not, the chances of such a thing-!

Unfortunately, Jon couldn’t actually say he remembered the moment too clearly, but surely he would have noticed something, would have felt something, but well, he hadn’t. In fact, he hadn’t thought much about his soulmate in quite some time.

Having a soulmate used to mean a lot to Jon as a kid. Some people didn’t have one, born with blank arms, but they were few. He was one of the many born with ink already set in his skin, and when he was younger he had wondered about how nice it would be to have someone who would inevitably understand him so completely in his life. To understand, unlike what his grandmother seemed to think, that there was so much of the world to see and that one could not be confined to the inside one house or the works of one author. Too many things to pay attention to. To stare at and feel and understand.

But then Jon grew up.

He went to a university, made friends, and he found Georgie who understood him near completely just like a soulmate would. What need would he have for a soulmate then? He stopped thinking about it. The words on his wrist he’d carefully memorized as a child became murky and began to fade away.

His relationship with Georgie took a turn for the worse and they broke up. They knew they weren’t each other’s soulmates, but soulmate bonds have a good chance at being platonic so most people still dated anyway.

After the breakup Jon came to the inevitable conclusion that relationships involving himself tended to just be more… complicated, than most people were willing to put up with, and were quite often too complicated to keep up with himself. He found there to be too many nuances and obligations and he really didn’t deserve one either. They’d have to put up with so much bullshit and- and no. Jon did not need or want a soulmate.

At least Georgie was not having as hard of a time with it all. Unlike with Jon’s mark about dogs, Georgie’s sentence on her wrist had been practical and near enviable with its lack of interpretation: _**Hey, I’m Melanie King, from Ghost Hunt UK?**_

Georgie said it was weird for her at first when she was a kid, before the show existed. It launched later into their adulthood, but since the instant Georgie found the first video she had been ecstatic. It was one of the things that inspired her to make a ghost related podcast, so that if her soulmate had anything as informative as her mark, Melanie would be able to find her. They hadn’t met yet, last Jon checked, although he’d been out of touch with Georgie for years now. Georgie had told him she’d been hoping that Melanie would make the first move. Jon didn’t quite understand why so he’d just nodded.

Regardless of what Georgie ended up doing about her soulmate, it was bound to be quick and neat. That was the nature of her mark. Jon was not afforded that luxury.

There weren’t many people who’d been asking after dogs in his life, but at this point Jon just sort of assumed his first encounter with his soulmate had probably happened already, and he just hadn’t even noticed or cared. There were so many other things to be preoccupied that finding his soulmate lacked importance. And moreover, as Jon had previously stated, he did not need or want a soulmate.

No way, no thank you, no- Why the hell could he see more black ink past the edge of his coat sleeve?

Fuck fuck fuck no no no he did not need any soulmate bullshit right now in his life are you kidding-!

He yanked back his sleeve to see, terrified and angry, that there were more words now spiralling up his left arm just below the question on his wrist. He knew it meant he’d encountered his soulmate. He knew that the encounter had most likely taken place just recently. He knew that Martin was the last person to- to ask about a stupid dog! But it was not going to be Martin, because Jon did not want a soulmate, least of all- of all _him_!

He swallowed in distaste and shoved the sleeve back down. He’d been born with the first sentence, and sort of assumed that if he was tattooed more, he would have noticed when it happened. That the words would hurt when they etched themselves into his skin. But they didn’t. They’d appeared who knows when and he only discovered them now and he’d never felt a thing. It should have hurt. It really should have hurt.

_I don’t want or need a soulmate,_ Jon thought desperately in a mantra. But even against his closed eyelids he could see the new ink, fresh and shining as if wet. The first meaningful words that his soulmate would say to him soon.

_**I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t move on, and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck.** _

God, Jon felt like that now.

(MAG Liveshow) (Not MAG) (MAG 39 - Infestation)  
...

It wasn’t until Martin got home that he found the time to look at his arm. Truth be told he sort of forgot about during the ensuing dog chase fiasco through the archival storage, with Tim trying to act as a goalie to keep the dog from getting out of the room and ultimately failing.

Martin was undressing for a shower, sore from scraping his elbows in a dive to catch the Spaniel, when he caught sight of more black marks on his arm in a band below his wrist.

He swallowed tightly, something fluttering with anticipation within him, and read: _**In which case there’s a room in the Archives I use to sleep when working late. I suggest you stay there for now.**_

Martin closed his eyes and let his head forward against the peeling tiles on his shower wall. The Archives… Why did everything revolve around the Archives?

_Jon,_ he thought with certainty. His soulmate had to be Jon. But he remembered the way Jon had been shooting him glares all day. He remembered the vitriol in Jon’s words whenever he had to bear the indignity of even speaking to Martin.

Martin was used to being spoken to that way. That didn’t mean it was pleasant. He was used to being looked down upon. That didn’t mean he wanted to be. He was used to being ignored. That didn’t mean it got easier.

When he left the shower, he avoided looking at his arm in the mirror. He wore long sleeves to bed, and wore long sleeves the next day, the day after that, and every day of work.

(MAG 22 - Colony)  
...

Jon liked long sleeves. He liked long skirts and pants too. He prefered to keep himself covered, for the less people saw of him the better, in his opinion.

He found himself wondering that evening at home, gripping the new markings, if Georgie had ever gotten up the courage to talk to Melanie. He even went so far as to find Georgie’s name on his contact list. According to his phone, they hadn’t texted in over three years, and the last message he sent her was to celebrate The Admiral’s birthday.

It would probably be weird, to talk to her now to ask her something so out of the blue, so he didn’t, and turned off his phone to plug it in for the night.

He wouldn’t remember the soulmate incident until into the next morning, and even then he would studiously ignore it. Jonathan Sims did not need a soulmate. And he certainly didn’t need or want someone like- like Martin! They had nothing in common; it would never work out. Martin was obviously meant for someone else, and Jon had already found people important to him in life, and they were gone now, so obviously he was fine and didn’t need anyone ever again.

No one would ever understand him, and he didn’t need them to.

…

The next day at work didn’t get easier. Or the next week.

Jon ignored him. Martin tried to ignore Jon, when he wasn’t trying to be polite. Weak smiles that were never returned. Morning greetings that were never returned. Tea runs that were never returned.

Tim and Sasha were nice though. Martin hadn’t gotten along with anyone in quite awhile, so he had fun getting to know them. It turned out no one really knew what they were doing in the Archives, and Martin, with his last few years of library experience and his natural adaptability, was actually able to keep up quite well. It was the least stressful work week of his life in that sense.

In the Jon-having-the-potential-to-be-his-soulmate sense… well. Hmm.

His soulmate worked in the Archives. That was obvious from the additional text he’d gotten on his arm. It wasn’t Tim or Sasha. They were already soulmates with each other. Jon also worked in the Archives. He’d said word and word what was on Martin’s wrist during their first encounter, Martin was sure of it. But Jon- He was so unpleasant! He was awful, and he didn’t like Martin, and Martin would be an idiot to start liking him now. Not only that but Jon must not think they’re soulmates since he’d never brought it up, or maybe he didn’t want to be soulmates with Martin. Martin... Martin wouldn’t blame him.

But… maybe Jon could be nice? Was nice, and Martin just didn’t know him well enough, and Jon simply hadn’t realized they were soulmates yet? According to Martin’s arm, Jon would eventually offer Martin a place to stay in the Archives, and also apparently Jon himself slept over in archives regularly? Martin didn’t know whether to be concerned or not over that fact about Jon, but at the very least he was not surprised.

He wanted to give Jon the benefit of the doubt. He really did. But Martin had been through enough to know why that was dangerous, so even though it was very fucking obvious that Jon was his soulmate, Martin kept his distance.

There were also more important things to worry about. Namely, why would Martin need to stay in the Archives in the first place? What could possibly happen in the future?

…

Jon studiously ignored his tattooed words. He also ignored Martin for as long as he could, until Jon simply couldn’t ignore him any longer. Because Martin was in danger, and the Archives could be at least somewhat safe when Jane Prentiss was on the prowl, and the bottom line was that Jon would never allow any of his staff to come to harm, not when he could do something to prevent it. So he did what he could, after Martin told him about being trapped in his own apartment for weeks. The decision was made easier by the fact that at that point Jon didn’t consider Martin his soulmate. Jon had separated the two concepts so thoroughly in his mind over the months leading up that the thought never even occurred as he informed Martin about the spare room and cot.

Jon had come to have forgotten that Martin and his soulmate were more than likely the same person. Even as he dealt with an unwanted roommate in the Archives when he worked at night. Even as he had to suffer through Martin’s inability to remember trousers late in the evening. Even as he’d stumble into the storeroom at an ungodly hour only to remember that his usual cot had his employee sleeping there, leaving him to return to his office and just throw some blankets on the floor because he didn’t want to disturb Martin. He needed the cot more than Jon did.

Even as Jon got trapped in the sealed room with a worm burrowing into his leg and Sasha and Martin panicking over him with a corkscrew in hand and Jane Prentiss just outside the door.

No, not even as Sasha left him and Martin alone, and they sat and they waited and they feared and they talked and… And he asked Martin why he was still working in the Archives despite the danger. And Martin responded that he felt trapped. And Jon had so rarely looked at the new words below his wrist in the last months that even then, he didn’t connect Martin with being his soulmate.

No, it wasn’t until the incident was over, and Jon was out of quarantine and had taken everyone’s statements about the attack and had returned to his empty apartment so late that night. He fell into bed but his skin was on fire with all the little itching holes, and everything hurt, and he ripped his shirt off just to make sure that worms weren’t still there despite having been cleared by paramedics. He would end up buying a full length mirror on his way home from work the next day, just so he could look himself over in the dead of night because even after getting Prentiss’s ashes he could never be sure-

But it was that night, checking himself over for worms in the bathroom mirror, exhausted but at the same time more awake than he had ever been, that he noticed the ink. Remembered, clearly, what Martin had said to him when they were in that room.

Martin said he felt trapped. The tattoo on Jon’s arm was about feeling trapped.

God, Jon had felt that way too. Hadn’t known how to explain to Martin how terrified he was for the both of them. Hadn’t known how to explain that he understood. Hadn’t known how to say that he wished Martin never had to go through this, especially not those weeks in his apartment alone-

And below that, below those tattooed words that had shook him deeper than anything had in a long time, were more:

_**No, I mean... I’m sorry I left you.** _

When had that appeared? When they were still locked in that tiny claustrophobic room? Or when they were running through the tunnels? Or just before Martin said it during Jon’s interview with him after the attack?

Jon let a deep breath out, and gripped the bathroom counter tightly. When had he just decided that Martin was his soulmate? He hadn’t. Martin wasn’t- wasn’t that. Couldn’t be that. It would be too dangerous, too risky.

Jon could not trust anyone, even if fate itself said they were important. Someone had killed Getrude, and Jon- No, Jon was alone in this. He didn’t care that Martin cared so much about him. That Martin had weeped over getting seperated. Had cried over a complete accident because it meant he’d left Jon and Tim alone. It meant nothing. It meant nothing! No one understood Jon, no one had his back, it had always been that way and he just-!

He really, really did not like how there was even more ink below that on his arm. He read it before he could look away, and felt that coppery taste return to his mouth along with a sense of hysterical incredulousness.

_**I lied on my CV.** _

(MAG 40 - Human Remains) (MAG 56 - Children of the Night)  
…

Martin knew for certain now that Jon was his soulmate.

He’d memorized the new sentences. Word for word. He knew them by heart. He always forced himself to, when it came to his soulmate. That didn’t make it easier on him. It made it hard. But Martin was used to dealing with difficulty, so he persevered.

When Jon had believed him about Jane Prentiss trapping him in his apartment, as much as someone so skeptical could, and given him the spare room with the cot, that’s when Martin knew. He’d sat down that night on blankets that smelled like Jon, in a daze.

And then he cried.

He didn’t know if it was from the relief of not having died horribly alone in his apartment eaten by worms, or from finally being somewhat safe, or knowing for sure that he did have a soulmate after all, or from the fear that Jon was the best he could get from life: a soulmate who hated him.

The next time Martin would change his clothes is when he’d see it. The next line. And he’d cry again. He’d already been through so much, and he was so terrified, and the worms were so very real, and he couldn’t go through that again, and yet, it was there on his skin:

_**Because I’m scared, Martin!** _

Even after that. After the attack on the institute, and the worms, and the small room with Jon, and finding Getrude’s body, Martin would only get more scared and worried and panicked, and he’d almost sob when the next thing he found on his body wasn’t ominous or frightening or worrying, just… this.

_**Right, I-I… uh… I believe you.** _

(MAG 39 - Infestation) (MAG 56 - Children of the Night)  
…

There wasn’t… time, anymore.

At first it was the paranoia at every waking hour, and then some sort of… of relief, Jon would say. He could trust Martin after the whole faking-his-CV outburst, to some extent. Martin could be safe. Was… Was perhaps safe. Jon didn’t know. Couldn’t know for sure. Nothing and no one was reliable.

But Jon had dug his fingers into his arms and twisted to read the words over and over again and… It lined up. It was just his CV. That was all Martin was hiding. The relief Jon had felt had been impactful enough to be etched into his skin. But that didn't clear anyone else and so Jon just… pushed the thought aside again. There was so much more to do and to look into and Martin might- Martin might be safe. But Jon was not safe. Not safe to be around or to trust either. Nobody should trust anybody. But Jon trusted Martin. Maybe.

In the next months he… confronted what was not Sasha. He stumbled onto the recently deceased body of the worst old man in history, blood still fresh. He talked to Georgie again, for the first time in four years when he arrived at her doorstep and asked if he could sleep on her couch. Just in time for The Admiral’s birthday. Serendipitous, really.

No new marks appeared. Not since the one about Martin’s CV. It panicked Jon. Was Martin okay? Was Tim? They weren’t at the institute that night when he’d run from the murder scene, he’d made them go home that day, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still in danger in the Archives and Jon had just left them… But nothing was on his right arm yet, so he was fine. Martin’s final words to him would be on his right wrist, he knew that, and they had not appeared yet. So it didn’t matter. Martin was alive, Jon was alive, everyone was alive for the time being.

He asked Georgie about her soulmate instead. Apparently she’d finally met Melanie in person a few years back, and they kept in contact as sort of rivals and friends with an appreciation of each other’s projects and supernatural pursuits, although it was only recently that Melanie discovered they were soulmates.

As the story went, Georgie had gotten a look at Melanie’s mark near the start of their friendship and had been forced not to laugh. Georgie’s first words to Melanie, that were imprinted on Melanie’s skin, had apparently been _**It’s nice to meet you, Melanie.**_ Suffice to say Melanie had been none too pleased that Georgie had been keeping her own mark a secret, but they were close now. Working on getting together. On seeing what relationship they would have.

Naturally Georgie had asked Jon how his soulmate hunt was going. He responded automatically and imperiously that he didn’t have or need a soulmate. She just rolled her eyes, then later, when she caught him wearing short sleeves that displayed his tattoos, raised and waggled her eyebrows and Jon decided not to engage her.

It was only when Jon’s hand had been burned and bandaged that more words appeared at some point. The other bits had been a line or two encircling his forearm, but now there was suddenly an entire paragraph that took up the rest of the space on his arm. A single speech up to his shoulder that made Jon’s breath shaky.

It started with _**I, I’m scared, I guess-**_ and just kept going. It contained references to being a final message, which Jon did not like. Martin said his own name in it- Jon knew his soulmate was Martin. He… he had known for a long time but still felt anxiety and fear to see it confirmed and a bit like an idiot for not accepting it sooner. In the absolute cascade of words, Martin talked about how scared he was. Brought up Melanie’s name, which made Jon’s stomach twist to know she was involved, but he promised himself he wouldn’t show Georgie this. She shouldn’t have to worry about this, or know about how badly things could end.

_**-I need him to be okay.-** _  
_**-It felt good weaving my own little web.-** _  
_**-I hope Jon doesn’t actually listen to these.-** _  
_**-I just really hope everyone makes it back.-** _  
_**-Just… Just don’t die, Jon. Or, or Tim, Basira, or… Daisy, I guess?-** _

Jon was crying, by the end. Sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching his arms, his burned hand ringing with pain, Georgie having the grace to be out of the apartment getting more first aid supplies. It meant that Jon was alone to… to break. He never wanted to drag anyone into anything, but apparently he dragged them into everything. To their potential deaths. And he didn’t even know what they were risking their lives for. That’s why he had to find out. Starting with confronting Micheal Crew.

Under his fingertips it was almost like the ink that wound up to his shoulder was still wet, but he knew it would never rub away. The only solace he could take was that his right arm was still perfectly blank, skin unmarked beneath his burned and wrapped hand aside from the unsightly worm scars. Martin would not die soon. Jon could only hope now that Martin’s right arm was blank as well. Or… maybe it would be better if it wasn’t.

The Admiral found him on the bathroom floor, and Jon held his friend tight.

(Not MAG) (MAG 117 - Testament)  
…

It happened.

Martin burned the statements, tricked Elias, and was left to sit and stew in his own horror after Elias had forced those truths directly into his mind- and then it happened.

He was just beginning to compose himself too, but there it was.

He felt it this time, too. A deep, ingrained burning in the flesh of his arm. He freaked, still feeling awful and disoriented and hopeless and lost, but he at least managed to look. It was his right arm stinging. He pulled back his sleeve.

His left arm still had a lot of space left for ink. A lot of space.

That didn’t seem to matter.

There were words in a pathetic ring on the wrist of his right _fucking_ arm.

_**Goodbye, Martin. I’ll- I’ll see you soon.** _

And he screamed and he cried and he shoved everything off the desk and curled up in misery because he knew that it wasn’t new. That it hadn’t just happened. He remembered his right arm itching when Tim and Basira and Daisy and Jon were still here. He dismissed it though, too focused on keeping composed as they said their goodbyes. Then he had a mission. It hurt a bit, when he was burning the statements, but he thought it was because of the fire. He didn’t- He never thought to look. Not until he was so empty and awful that he could finally pay attention. And it was too late. Too late to warn Jon. To stop this. To change things. All because Martin couldn’t pull back his fucking sleeve and pay attention.

He remembered it too. The goodbyes. Nobody said a lot. Just… grim. Jon had looked at him and they- they didn’t talk much, these days. Jon was always running around, trying to save the world, and Martin kept himself busy and they just didn’t- It didn’t matter.

Jon had talked to Melanie a bit. Then the others. Then he turned to Martin, and there was something unsaid in his eyes, but he offered his hand to shake - the unburned one - and then he said it.

“Goodbye, Martin. I’ll- I’ll see you soon.”

(Not MAG)  
…

Jon checked his left arm and there was nothing new. He checked his right and there was nothing at all. He wanted to twist to check his back but he was in the car on the way to the wax museum and he- he couldn’t. Not without the others noticing, especially Tim who already had words on his own worm-riddled right wrist. Instead Jon sat silently and stared at the inside of his right arm, scared that the instant he looked away something would appear. Thought that maybe his stare alone would deter fate.

He didn’t get the chance to look again once they were in the wax house.

He couldn’t look when the Stranger overtook them.

He couldn’t look, because he was dead and unbreathing, with his mind alive. There was a tattoo then, on the wrist of his right arm:

_**I’m sorry. Goodbye, Jon.** _

(MAG S4 Trailer)  
…

Martin didn’t feel a lot now. It was just… normal. The apathy. He was used to it. It was literally his job under Peter Lukas, and finally it was something he was good at.

That’s why, when he felt it, like a needle being dragged against his skin, he didn’t react, save for to look down and to pull up the long sleeves he always made sure to wear.

That’s why, when he saw that Jon’s last words had been crossed out with a neat, thick line, he didn’t cry.

_**~~Goodbye, Martin. I’ll… I’ll see you soon.~~ ** _

…

Jon woke up.

He wouldn’t see the words right away, too busy with the statement. But when he had the time, he would look, and feel dread at seeing his right arm tattooed, and then confusion, because what did it mean when the words were crossed out? But then he’d _know_. And he’d _know_ that Martin spoke those last words to him at Jon’s bedside while he was in that coma. And he’d want to cry, but instead he’d take a breath. He just needed to talk to Martin.

_**~~I’m sorry. Goodbye, Jon.~~ ** _

…

After Jon woke up, Martin started being tattooed with words again.

It was funny, really. He kept getting them a few days before Jon would find him, so almost every encounter became significant. Which- okay, it made sense when their encounters were so few under the influence of the Lonely, but could Jon please calm down? Martin, well, Martin had a plan. And there wasn’t a whole lot of empty space on his left arm now, thank you Jon.

And it was hard too. Every time he took his shirt off when he’d get home he’d force himself to look in the bathroom mirror. And every time his face would not change because he couldn’t let it. Control was key here so it would be nice if Jon could stop trying to make him slip up, damnit! He didn’t bother to memorize the words anymore either, instead just letting them slip through and past him.

God, the day before Jon had burst into his office to tell him they should gouge their eyes out, there was a whole bunch of lines that wound up his arm to cover his shoulder, leaving no more space behind.

_**-We could just leave.-** _  
_**-The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?-** _  
_**-Just- don’t wait too long, okay?-** _

Martin swallowed tightly and shoved another shirt on with perhaps more irritation and force than strictly necessary. Just- Fuck! He just needed to focus, please Jon!

(MAG 154 - Bloody Mary)  
...

It would take more time before the words would grow again after his coma, starting at the top of Jon’s back since his left arm had no more room. It was rare, with little bits that were too short, frankly. But they would give him hope when they appeared, because it meant he’d be seeing Martin again soon.

He would read Martin’s goodbye speech that consumed most of his left arm time and time again. He’d listened to the tape before he had left for the wax museum. He knew the context now. He knew he couldn’t change things. But he also knew he trusted Martin.

They… They were soulmates, for better or worse.

The new things that were tattooed _hurt_. Not when they were etched, but when they were read. Martin was so different and so distant and it hurt and Jon would just persevere. He’d commit every word to memory, because he couldn’t afford to be negligent now, because everything Martin said meant so much and Jon needed to always know those words.

Jon would swallow tightly, and let his head fall back, near the end.

_**I really loved you, you know?** _

_I know,_ Jon thought. _I know and I am so, so sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner. That you weren’t important to me then. But please Martin. Please let me be there for you now._

He’d read each new line again.

And again.

And again.

Until he knew that each word was as etched into his mind as it was into his skin.

_**I really loved you, you know?** _

(MAG 159 - The Last)  
…

That morning, before Peter showed him the Panopticon, Martin was able to look in the mirror one final time. The words had begun on his back now. Spread out smoothly below the base of his neck and across the expanse of his shoulder blades.

A speech.

_**Listen, I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer, and well- well, maybe it is. But we need you. I need you. Martin. Martin, look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.** _

Martin swallowed tightly, and put on the shirt he’d be wearing to work that day. The fact was that he had no idea what was coming, no idea when Peter would finally act, but he felt… better, in a weird way. Jon had his back. He could trust Jon. And besides the crossed out words on his right arm, the rest of its skin was blank.

In fact, he felt ready now. Almost confident. Soon this would all be over.

(And when he was lost and in the Lonely? Those marks would fade and become washed out and nearly disappear. Martin would maybe be concerned, if the thought of his soulmate meant anything to him at all when he would always be alone. Jon would definitely become concerned when his own marks faded too, because he knew how close he was to losing what mattered most. How close he was to losing Martin.)

(MAG 159 - The Last)  
…

Jon would see it in the safehouse. He’d laugh actually, with his shirt half off while he twisted himself to see his back in the mirror. He’d _know_ what it said, rather than try to read the reflection. Martin would peak in through the doorway, curious, maybe concerned. They were going to be sharing the same bed tonight. Neither Martin nor Jon wanted Martin to be unsupervised when the Lonely was still so close. Or at least that was their excuse.

Jon hadn’t been undressed in front of someone in a long time, would have probably felt uncomfortable or self conscious, but this was Martin. They had worked so hard to be together that Jon was absolutely not going to feel weird when he could instead show off his back to Martin and the fresh, glistening black ink etched there, across the arch of his spine.

_**I see… I see you, Jon. I see you.** _

And Martin would laugh too, and would almost cry, and they’d hug the tears away.

(MAG 159 - The Last)  
…

Martin and Jon would get a lot more marks in their time together. All down their back and perhaps even their sides and legs and chest, because it turned out that everything they said meant so much to the other.

They’d finally get to read each other’s marks in the safe house. To learn how they had impacted the other’s life in even the minorest of ways. It would bring up good memories, bitter memories, thoughts that they’d rather not dwell on.

They’d finally get to talk about being soulmates in that safe house. Martin would mumble about how he’d… been lonely before. Hung up on the hope of having someone close. A bit of a romantic in how he’d always memorize the lines on his skin up until… until Jon’s coma. Jon would ruefully mention how he… hadn’t really wanted a soulmate. Would apologize for making Martin wait for him to come around. How he didn’t… didn't think anyone would ever want to be with him, didn’t want others to have to put up with him, didn’t see why something was so important. That changed now. It was so, so important now.

They’d finally discuss what happened after the wax museum in that safe house. Show each other their right arms with the crossed out words, and sit quietly, and try to talk but not knowing how. But they’d give context. Try to say, what little they could, about what had happened. Crying would be inevitable, but it would always be followed by holding each other close.

It turned out their bond was romantic. Not in the way that Martin thought it would be. Not in the way that Jon had been led to expect it to be. No, it did not follow any guidelines or instructions. It was just them, being together in a relationship that they chose and navigated based on each other, and they didn’t need anything more than that.

Best of all, they would finally laugh, because they finally got to show each other their first marks. Jon would go red at seeing the _**‘In general?’**_ on Martin's arm, and stutter out how it was a perfectly reasonable response. Martin would laugh and flush to see the _**‘Hey, sorry; have you seen a dog?’**_ on Jon’s skin. Would apologize for it. There would be… a lot of apologizing.

In the future, their skin would be decorated with more fresh ink, wet and glistening.

In the future, their skin would be decorated with more of each other, and how much they meant to one another.

In the future, how far in the future left unsaid, words would appear near the end of their right arms, fit snugly beneath those initial goodbyes that had long since been crossed out.

Their final tattoos.

_**‘I love you’**_ and _**‘I love you too’.**_

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe I drafted almost all of this in one four hour sitting after which I passed the heck out after only to wake up the next morning and realize most of it was unintelligible so then I had to spend like three something hours getting it to a point where people could somewhat follow along? Mmm.
> 
> You can find me over on my tumblr [@neverlastingforever](https://neverlastingforever.tumblr.com)


End file.
